


The Simplest Form of Comfort

by icandrawamoth



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 4+1 Things, 4+1 really but same thing, 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bisexual Cassian Andor, Cassian Andor-centric, Casual Sex, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt Cassian Andor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Missions Gone Wrong, Multi, One Night Stands, POV Cassian Andor, Post-Mission, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Cassian has a habit of taking someone to bed when he's stressed.(Or, four people Cassian had sex with for comfort or distraction and one he only slept with)





	The Simplest Form of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let's Can't Sleep Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9306629) by [icandrawamoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth). 



> The work listed as inspiring this one can basically be read as a follow-up to this, so you might want to go there next if you like it.

i.

Raid a remote and severely understaffed Imperial fueling station – the mission should be simple. Cassian and K-2SO will fly a pair of U-wings full of technicians accompanied by a flight of X-wings. The fighters will take out the four turrets protecting the area, coordinates already scouted out by Cassian and his team and uploaded to targeting computers, everyone will land, the remaining Imperials will be taken care of, and all the ships will be refueled and as many barrels as possible loaded up before they return to base. Simple.

Except it doesn't happen that way. Every X-wing hits its target – as Cassian had had no doubt they would – but one of the targets is off. Instead of the turret, the coordinates in the computer lead the proton torpedo dangerously close to the nearest fuel tank. Too close.

The tank goes up in flames, as does the entire depot in a spectacular chain, the meager fire suppression systems allotted to the out-of-the-way station barely making a dent in the inferno. The fighters barely escape, and more than one is badly damaged.

The debriefing is tense, to say the lease. The generals are furious, looking for someone to blame for the bad intel that has them down equipment and without anything to show for it. It's late, though, and a proper investigation can't be started until morning. With a promised threat from the brass to have them back in the room at sunrise, everyone starts to file out.

Most of the pilots head off to raid someone's liquor supply, but one stays behind, standing alone in the hall turning his helmet over and over in his hands. The markings identify him as Red Two, the pilot who had fired the fateful torpedo, and Cassian finds his attention drawn to him.

That orange flight suit shouldn't flatter anyone, but somehow it does him, with that dark hair and those soft hazel eyes. Or maybe it's just how desperate Cassian is for a distraction.

“You're not going with your friends?” he asks.

The pilot halts his movements and looks up. “No, sir.”

Cassian makes a face. “You don't have to call me sir. What's your name?” He's heard it dozens of times over the course of the mission and debriefing, but his overworked mind is failing him now.

“Wedge Antilles.” There's a faint question mark at the end of the statement.

“Wedge, would you like to come back to my room with me?” Cassian asks bluntly.

Wedge blinks at him for a moment as if trying to gauge whether he's misunderstood the question, and clearly decides he hasn't. “Yes, sir,” he answers confidently.

Cassian turns to lead the way, not bothering to correct him, already undressing Wedge in his mind. If the kid really wants to use the title, so be it. Neither of them are going to care about much once they're behind closed doors.

By the time Wedge leaves in the small hours of the morning, sporting a limp that will make plain to anyone what he's been doing, Cassian is glad he doesn't actually spend much time around underlings who call him sir, because he's pretty sure he's never going to forget the way Wedge said it. Cried it. Whimpered it. Screamed it.

They never once mentioned the mission. Wedge (Cassian) never asked for forgiveness, and Cassian (Wedge) never told him it wasn't his fault. Alone in their rooms, sated and spent, they sleep without dreams.

 

ii.

Cassian has never done well with downtime, and tonight is no exception. He keeps walking across the luxurious hotel room and peeking out through the curtains at the window across the courtyard, though the only thing he can see there is a strip of light between another set of closed curtains.

“See anything yet?” a voice teases from behind him

Cassian huffs and lets the curtains swing closed as he turns. Lounging on the opulent bed is his partner for this mission, Ava Cyff, fellow Rebel Intelligence officer. In order to avoid suspicion on this Imperial-frequented resort world, they're posing as a married couple.

“We know the target isn't going to be out and about until tomorrow,” Ava reasons. “There's no reason for you to stare a hole through his window.”

Cassian grits his teeth. “I don't like waiting here and doing nothing.”

“You could do me,” Ava says flippantly, waggling an eyebrow. She grins. “I am your wife, after all.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow. Sometimes it's hard to tell when she's joking and when she's not.

She echoes the expression, grin widening. Fanning her long red curls across the pillow invitingly, she lets her legs fall open. “Come on, Cassian,” she wheedles, reaching for him. “Have a better way to kill some time and assure we both get a good rest?”

Cassian knows he shouldn't, but he also can't deny that it's a tempting offer. There's no question that Ava is beautiful and sex is a foolproof way to get rid of his nervous energy. He takes her hand and lets himself be pulled in.

The next day, she's gone. The mission goes pear-shaped (he'll never find out fully how), and they get caught in a firefight. They're both pinned, he can't reach her, and then – she takes a blaster bold and goes down. Cassian doesn't cry out. He can't give away his own position.

He barely manages to escape, and there's no way he can secure her body. He returns to Yavin 4 with new scars on his heart and a hand that shakes as he writes a condolence letter to her family.

 

iii.

After Jenoport, Cassian doesn't trust himself to be alone. It's not that he thinks he'll do something to himself – he would never take what's always been drilled into him as the coward's way out – but the images are so very fresh, all there in the red of blood and the white of bone every time he blinks. He “accidentally” left his blaster on the ship, unable to even be in the same room as such a reminder of what he did.

So, he can't be alone. He needs someone to take him out of himself.

K-2SO seems to understand. He follows his captain silently back to his room in a move that's unusual for both of them. As soon as the human shuts the door, K-2 implores, “Cassian, how can I help you?”

Cassian drops onto his unmade bed, rubbing his hands over his face, blood and death behind his eyelids. “Make me forget,” he says hoarsely.

There's the soft sound of K-2's servos as he moves, and when Cassian looks up he's startled to see the droid looming over him. The room is eerily silent, Cassian watching with wide eyes as the droid reaches out, dark metal gleaming dully in the light. His hand lands on Cassian's crotch.

“Kay, what are you doing?”

“When distressed, you tend to seek sexual stimulation,” K-2 tells him. “I am merely indulging you in what has seemed to work before.”

Cassian groans loudly and thumps his head back on the bed – just barely remembering not to close his eyes. “This is not what I need right now. My droid getting all touchy-feely.”

“Fine,” K-2 says, and he actually sounds offended as he snatches his hand back. “What _do_ you want?”

“Kay, wait-” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and K-2SO pauses, watching him.

Cassian sighs. If he's honest with himself, it's not like he's never been curious. On more than one long flight, he's looked at K-2's long, tapered fingers and wondered...wondered...

“You're looking at my fingers,” the droid says matter-of-factly. “I may not be telepathic, but that doesn't mean I don't know what you're thinking. Or that it's not the first time.”

“Great, I've been sexually harassing you this whole time.”

K-2 makes a startlingly accurate approximation of a snort. “Don't be dramatic, Cassian. You're an average human male with the needs of an average human male, and I'm a droid here to provide you with service, whatever that may be. I don't mind.”

When the captain doesn't respond, K-2SO switches tracks. He kneels down somewhat awkwardly until they're face to face. “Cassian.” If his metal face could soften, it would. “You're practically my maker. You're my partner and my friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.” A short pause, another minute tilt of his head. “I know what happened to you today, and I know how much you're hurting. Let me help, even if it's only this.”

Cassian blinks away invading tears. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Cassian nods, reaches out to take K-2's wrist, and draws him closer.

Later, they won't talk about it, not in detail. But it won't be the last time.

 

iv.

It's not any one particular event that has Cassian pacing the halls of Base One late that night. It's the end of another long day where everything seems to be coming to a head and he's being pulled in a dozen directions at once. He knows he should sleep – tomorrow is going to be just as busy – but he's too restless to keep still.

As he passes, a door opens and a familiar voice calls out. "Captain Andor. Cassian."

He turns, realizing he's stumbled on Mon Mothma's quarters when he sees the leader of the Rebel Alliance standing in the doorway in her her nightdress. "Ma'am," he says awkwardly.

She smiles. "Formality isn't necessary. Won't you come in?"

Unable to disobey an order, whether it comes in the form of a question or not, Cassian follows her back inside. "May I ask what this is about?" he inquires.

Mothma smiles again, in that serene, calming way she has. "I'm going to be blunt with you, Cassian." The unusual use of his first name again. "I've heard you're in the process of working your way through this base, and I wondered if you would get to me. When I saw you out and about tonight, I thought you might be...browsing."

Cassian's brow furrows. She can't possibly be suggesting what he thinks she's suggesting.

"I'm inviting you into my bed, Cassian," she says, as bluntly as she had promised. "I find myself in need of distraction tonight as well."

Cassian's eyes widen. He has no idea how to respond to the leader of the free galaxy _inviting him into her bed._

A frown creases Mothma's face. "Of course you're free to say no. Either way, this night will have no effect on our professional relationship."

That, oddly enough, settles him. "I'd be honored."

She laughs, a gentle, tinkling thing. "Not exactly the response I was expecting, but it'll do." She gestures to her bed. "Make yourself comfortable. I just have a few things to finish up here." She steps over to her desk.

Cassian usually brings his partners back to his own quarters, though he he's no stranger to a new room seen only at night. This is entirely different. As he crosses the room, he takes in everything without seeming to, a skill he's honed in his work as a spy. Mothma's quarters are, surprisingly, as sparse as his own. There's the desk, a tall wardrobe, table and chair in blonde wood, and bed with pale linens.

He decides the best thing to do is follow the woman's casual lead. He hangs his coat on the chair and reclines on the bed. It's surprisingly comfortable for its plain appearance; perhaps it's her one indulgence.

The bed is soft, the lights low, and the only sound Mothma's fingers on her datapad. Cassian finds his eyes growing heavy and drowses as he waits.

Some time later, Mothma is above him murmuring, “Still with me, Captain?”

“Of course.” Cassian rubs his eyes and tries to sit up, but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

“You're fine where you are.”

Cassian leans back on his elbows, other parts of his body starting to come alive.

Mothma smiles at him, her hand trailing down his chest to slip under the hem of his shirt. “Shall we get started?”

Through the night, she is sweet and gentle but never shy. When Cassian leaves early the next morning, before anyone else will be awake to see him, she lets him go at the door with a lingering kiss and a soft thank you. They will never like this again, but they'll both remember the encounter fondly for a long time to come.

 

i.

“Bodhi, wait.” Cassian catches the other man's arm as they leave the briefing, pausing when he catches sight of his face. Drawn and weary and pained, just like his own. It's been such a very, very long day for all of them, and now it's finally over. “Come back to my room with me for a drink?”

A nervous, questioning look crosses Bodhi's face, and Cassian mentally kicks himself. Making him uncomfortable is the last thing he wants. “Just for a drink,” he says again. “And to talk? An official debrief doesn't always take care of everything... At least for me.” His fingers move slightly on Bodhi's wrist, and he struggles to still them.

Finally, Bodhi smiles slightly. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

They wave goodbye to the others and a minute or two later are back in Cassian's quarters. The room is small and stark, little more than a regulation bed and desk, but that's the way Cassian likes it. He doesn't spend much time here, anyway. He takes a bottle and a couple of glasses from a drawer and pours whiskey for both of them,

Bodhi accepts his with quiet thanks and takes a drink, watching Cassian like he's not quite sure what he's supposed to say.

Cassian isn't sure either, and he's unprepared when words slip from his mouth. “I honestly didn't think we'd be back here. I thought we were goners.”

“Me, too,” Bodhi murmurs, soft brown eyes still on Cassian.

“It's all thanks to you, you know. The way you flew that shuttle...I've never seen anything like it.”

Bodhi ducks his head shyly. “It was the mission.”

“It wasn't. The mission was to get the plans. It never mattered whether we came back. But you made sure we did.” Cassian wants him to understand. He wants Bodhi to see how special he is, how brave. He _wants_ him, in a way that scares him, because bringing Bodhi back to his room tonight isn't the way he usually does things. He didn't bring this sweet, wonderful man back to have his way with him to burn off the reactions to a stressful mission. No, what Cassian wants from Bodhi is...different. He doesn't want to push him, doesn't want to go too fast, and that's nothing he's ever wanted before or ever thought he could have.

“Will you stay?” he finds himself asking, because apparently he just can't control his tongue about Bodhi now that the mission is over.

Bodhi's eyes widen. “I-”

“Just to sleep,” Cassian fairly trips over himself to say. “I know they assigned you a room, but- Some people don't like to be alone – after trauma like that, I mean.” _I don't_ , he doesn't say, but he can see from the way Bodhi's tilting his head slightly, the way a tiny, understanding smile edges across his face, that he understands.

“Yes, Cassian, I'll stay.”


End file.
